Both Robin and Bill believe that Bill's company endured the recession better than Robin's. "We've done well, but our bottom line suffered," says Robin. "There was a price to pay for holding on to my employees, and it came out of my pocket." After eyeing Bill's strategy closely, Robin came out admiring his approach -- and determined to emulate it in the future. "He's done things on a much bigger scale than I've been able to do," says Robin. "He's implemented employee incentive programs, like bonus systems and a 401(k), while I've only been able to just think about it."
Of course, a situation like that could just as well inspire one of countless petty human emotions -- like, say, jealousy. For instance, not long after Jerome Rafferty helped his wife, Renata, break through her aforementioned wall, she found her company's services in great demand. So much so, recalls Jerome, that "people would come up to me after hearing her speak at a conference and say, 'Wow, you're Renata's husband!" But Jerome says he had no problem with Renata's newfound success; it even fired him up. After a while, anyway. "It took some getting used to," he admits.
* * *
Four
You see each other's work, but you don't see each other at work
"Copreneurs" they came to be called. You remember: not long ago experts were holding them up as cozy examples of compulsively cocooning baby boomers. They were couples who set out to build a life -- and a business -- together. And together they were, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a -- well, you get the idea. They were together until they couldn't stand it anymore.
Which is one risk that two-company couples -- who are not yet identified by a spiffy neologism -- can avoid. "The copreneurial couple have a difficult time becoming independent and growing as individuals," says Jane Hilburt-Davis, a psychotherapist and family-business consultant in Boston. "Whereas members of the two-company couple each have their own place to establish their own identity and build self-esteem."
Mary and Ron Rosberg have tried both configurations. In 1970 they founded Repo Depo, a retailer of new and used office furniture, equipment, and supplies in Burlingame, Calif., and worked together for five years before Ron went off to run his own cellular-phone company. While he was with Repo Depo, Ron was in charge of sales and purchasing; Mary took on the administrative and accounting duties. At first the arrangement seemed to work out. But around 1975 they began to sense problems. "We had different ideas on how to do things," says Ron. "She's very methodical, weighing all the pros and cons. I'm more impulsive, more decisive. I'm a risk taker and Mary is not." They found that their different work styles caused . . . well . . . tension. "Sometimes we were stubborn and didn't see the other's side," says Mary. "It put extra strain on the marriage."
Tempers would flare, for example, over purchasing decisions. "Ron would come to me wanting to spend x number of dollars to buy merchandise," says Mary. "I would say we shouldn't spend that much money, because we had a certain thing coming down the pike and it wouldn't be smart as far as cash flow was concerned. He didn't want to hear that."
Both agree that their relationship is much better off now that they aren't in each other's presence all the time. Before, they had to confer on almost everything that happened in the business. "Now if Ron helps me out with anything," says Mary, "it's on a specific item or problem." The Rosbergs get to tap each other's strengths without getting on each other's nerves. Mary employs Ron's expertise on matters like advertising copy or lease negotiation, while Ron turns to Mary for advice on issues ranging from whether to take a delinquent account to small-claims court to how to handle employee theft. "Now we get the best of both worlds," Mary notes. "I get his decision-making abilities, although now I don't have to do what he says."
* * *
Five
You're forced to set rules limiting shoptalk -- or suffer terminal boredom
"We have two separate businesses, and each by itself has the capacity to consume our lives," says Renata Rafferty. "Because of the businesses, all we wind up doing is talking about work." And that can poison a marriage -- as she well knows. "We wound up spending all of our time together as businesspeople," she says, "which left no time to talk about the dog or the cats or the plumbing or our relationship." (Presumably, not in that order.)
So they made a rule: they stop discussing anything business-related at 6 p.m. "Unless, of course, it's critical," says Renata, "but then we ask first." The Raffertys say this admittedly arbitrary cut-off time was necessary to ensure marital serenity. "Jerome and I genuinely like each other," says Renata. "But when we discuss business we don't always like each other."
Robin Bradford also doesn't like to talk about business. But when the day is done, Bill Hamilton finds he really needs to decompress. Initially, Robin thought she owed it to her husband to at least feign interest in his mind dump. But she had to be honest with herself and with Bill: she hated it. So they figured they should set ground rules. They limit business discussions to 15 minutes, long enough to allow for productive discourse but not so long as to eat away the better part of an evening. Bill confesses that he sometimes gets the urge to break the rules and gripe at length about a particularly unruly client. But he respects the quarter-hour mandate. "It's too easy to just talk about business and not talk about the family or our relationship," he says.
Like the Raffertys, Bill and Robin remain flexible. "If I really want her opinion, I'll ask," says Bill. Which doesn't necessarily mean that Robin will answer: she finds it much easier than Bill does to separate herself from business. And if she's not in business mode, she'll let Bill know. "If she really doesn't want to talk, I respect that," he concedes. "In fact, I try to emulate that."
